


Distraction Techniques

by iniquiticity



Series: cygnus [2]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Benjamin Tallmadge's Lead-Weighted Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Brief Transphobic Language, Domestic Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Older Man/Younger Man, Overstimulation, Polyamorous Character, Praise Kink, Rimming, Snowballing, Subtly Nefarious Relationship Dynamics, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: George liked to think of himself a straight shooter: he knew why ballet things were how they were. But that this flaming heap of shit called his Ben "a bundle of tics" and  "ten over-anxious roaches in a trenchcoat" and, most offensively, "George Washington's next nobody to shove down our throats" almost sent him into a rage. But that was not the problem. 
The problem was that Ben would read the blog, see the various ways that he had been savaged, and work himself into a fit about it. His Odette was a delicate little flower that required exquisite care, when not displaying the glowing-hot core of his being.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fickle_Obsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/gifts).



> If you're only interested in the porn, you don't have to read [Pointe Work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7954801) although that will give you a lot of context to the moderately plotty parts of the story. There's some subtly nefarious relationship dynamics here, and some drive-by transphobic language, so heed tags. 
> 
> Also, have you ever read something so magnificent your whole soul cried out in joy? I have. It's called [Your Affliction Leaves Me Wanting More](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8072506/chapters/18497335), and it is so beautiful that whole solar systems were born and then died in amazement.
> 
> As always, I can be reached on tumblr at [inquiticity](https://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/), or on twitter at [@picklesnake](https://twitter.com/picklesnake).

George had woken up good and early, had a cup of coffee, gone for a run, and given some tender lovemaking to his wife by the time someone had sent him a text directing him to some website he had never heard of. This had become a more regular event (the website directing - not the rest of them, all which were quite regular already), now that he had secured financing, set his new favorite Ben in his place, found a venue and set an opening date for the show. This website that he had never heard of had been passed around from one idiot to another until one of the more popular ballet blogs had picked it up, and, in the persistent grudge the internet had against him, publicized it to hundreds of thousands of other idiots. 

This no-name website excoriated Ben in deep, disturbing detail. Discussed with bullshit biology all the reasons women could dance better _en pointe_ than men. Made up some some fascinating nonsense about leg muscles and ankles and toes, and how women were genetically designed for this, and talked about the construction of flesh. George liked to think of himself a straight shooter: he knew why ballet things were how they were. There were many ballet things he acknowledged could have been improved. But this flaming heap of shit talking about how there was zero possible way this "doe-eyed, jumped-up lapdog, obvious ladyboy, bundle of tics  & ten over-anxious roaches in a trenchcoat" and, most offensively, "George Washington's next nobody to shove down our throats" could never be any good almost sent him into a steaming rage. Even Martha kept a respectable distance from the evident thunderclouds that gathered around him. 

How George felt about it, however, was not really the issue. George was more than used of everyone gunning for his head. He might actually be concerned if someone said something nice about him. He would roll his eyes at it and explain that it meant nothing and he was unconcerned. He was very good at being unconcerned. 

The issue was that it was only a matter of time before anyone else in the company got their eyes on it and it became the next lunchtime joke. There were plenty of people in the cast who would think it funny and would bat around new insults for themselves. That was good. George liked it, that most of his boys could defend themselves. They called themselves revolutionaries and dance patriots. When they thought he wasn't listening, they called him General Washington. He admitted that it had a nice ring to it.

The issue was that Ben would read the blog, see the various ways that he had been savaged, and work himself into a fit about it. His Odette was a delicate little flower that required exquisite care. George worked to learn how best to tend to him, that he grew strong and beautiful and bent towards the sun. George learned the best ways to put Ben's head back on his shoulders: acquired for him a prescription for something to calm his nerves (which his lead took without asking), found the right words to make him melt like ice cream on an August day into George's arms, and lastly learned his preference - which was for taller, older men, who held him and told him how good he was. 

George used what he could find, for his advantage. Ben did not seem to have any complaints about being on his choreographer's lap with George's hands in his pants and his voice in his ear. Ben was a dancer through and through, and knew all the bits and pieces of dance life. Ben was perfectly fine at working himself up and pouring that energy into his practice. 

Ben had clearly already been alerted to this hit piece on him by the time he showed up to the studio. He put on his shoes in the corner and went through his stretches in silence. George watched the line of his shoulders for a few minutes, could see him fighting to look and stay calm. George watched Martha give a few of his other dancers a hard time for their various dance failures and tried to figure out the best way to approach the situation. They had a full day of practice ahead of them - he couldn't just bend Ben over his office desk and then expect him to master the delicate choreography the boy has taken on. And without any kind of lead role on his CV already, too. _Hey kid - you've been an ensemble performer all your career - why don't you learn a new style of dance, and then we'll give you hours and hours of hopelessly intricate dance to memorize, and by the way, you're going to be known for his performance for the rest of your life?_

Just when he was about to approach Ben, Gilbert blew past him, boisterous and pleasant and laughing. Gilbert dumped himself into Ben's sulking corner and chatted him up about everything but the relevant blog post while they stretched. He made some witty comments about Ben's shoes and told him terrible jokes that he stole from George. By the time they were ready for some kind of collective practice, Ben was loose again, his face twisted in concentration only related to the difficulty of his technique. George sighed a giant mental sigh of relief and thanked the heaven again for Gilbert, who had blown into his life with his slightly awkward but infectious enthusiasm, and was the sort of second-in-command an actual general would appreciate. When he couldn't calm Ben down with his touch, Gilbert could take matters into his own figurative (and occasionally literal) hands. George was hoping that several hours of practice would wipe the thing entirely from Ben's mind, but it was obvious that was not the case. When Gilbert and Ben came back from lunch, the latter was distraught again, and the former hopelessly trying to distract him. 

Gilbert shot George a look. George finished his Diet Coke and nodded. 

"Ben, Gil," he said, "Let's get some side practice in before everyone else is back. He turned without acknowledging their agreement and strode down the hallway to one of the smaller practice studios. The two men shuffled in, and George clicked the lock on the door. 

"Ten cockroaches," Ben said, miserably. 

"Easy," George replied, and wrapped his arms around Ben's waist, pulling the man flush against his chest. Ben pressed back, until they was no daylight between them, and tilted his head, seeking a kiss that George gave him. 

"That stupid little worm," Gilbert snarled, and he took Ben's hands and wrapped them around himself, so that the three of them were sandwiched together with Ben in the middle. "I thought about tracking him down and leaving him paste on the sidewalk. Breaking his teeth and making him beg for mercy." 

Ben laughed a shuddering, sad laugh. "Easy, Gil," he said, and he pulled Gilbert's mouth to his and kissed him, and Gilbert kissed him back with all of his passion. "It's not.." 

"It is a big deal," Gilbert said, and his fingers traced teasing patterns over Ben's shirt. "I don't like when pointless asshole nobodies say mean things about my Odette. They should have to duel me." 

George chuckled at that and watched the anger flit across Gilbert's face. 

"I'm not that special," Ben said, but then George ground his hips into Ben's ass, and whatever else Ben was going to say died in his throat. 

"You are a big deal," George said into his ear, and kissed him, "The best big deal, and you know it." 

Gilbert took them in and let the palm of his hand brush across the growing bulge in Ben's workout pants. Ben nodded, though George couldn't figure out who to, or for. 

"I guess you won't fuck me even though I really need you," Ben murmured, turning his head to face George. 

"No," George said, but he kissed Ben deeply, until Ben was rolling his hips back against him, "But I will tonight. Do you want Gil to come?" 

"God, yes," Ben said, and arched his head back as Gilbert kissed his throat. 

"Now," George said, and with reluctance pulled away, "Pull yourself together. We need you confident and strong and I know you're both of those things, and then we'll dance more later." 

Ben nodded and took a breath. "Yeah," he said, and he adjusted his pants to try and will his hard-on away, "Yeah." 

  


* * *

 

It was well within normal limits for the four of them - George, Martha, Gilbert, and Ben - head off at the end of practice in one car, even if that meant leaving two cars behind. George drove while Martha small-talked the boys in the back seat. He listened idly to their chatter while staring at the road. Gilbert was talking about the documentary guys, who he had completely and intentionally convinced he was their best friend, so he could provide explanations for behavior that they’d swallow without asking. Ben complained about toe boxes in ballet shoes. He had long since stopped complaining about how his feet hurt. When they got home, George poured them all finger of whiskey, and tilted his head as Martha poured her glass into Ben’s highball. 

“I have two private lessons tonight, and one in an hour. Probably not a good idea,” she said, in explanation, and George was forced to agree. 

“We’ll need you to take care of us, anyway,” Gilbert added, with a swallow of his own. Then, picking up the glass, he glanced around the kitchen, “Now, where is that foot spa?” He asked no one in particular, and disappeared into the rest of the apartment. 

George watched him fondly for a moment, and then let his eyes trail back to Ben. Ben had already drank a good portion of his glass. “Hey,” he said, and Ben looked up at him, his cheeks still a little pink from the exertion of practice, “You did good today.” 

“I guess,” Ben said, to his glass. 

“I guess?” Gilbert repeated, loud enough that he could be heard from the living room, “Come here.” 

Ben sighed, and didn’t move. George frowned at him, then cocked his head in the direction of Gilbert’s voice. Clearly reluctant, Ben picked up his glass and made his way sluggishly to the living room, leaving George alone with Martha. 

His wife shook her head as she sat down behind a substantial pile of mail, and thread her finger through the first one. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” she said, in way that meant he was supposed to know. 

He rolled his eyes. She tossed bills onto one pile, and junk mail onto another. He stared at the wall that separated the kitchen, where he could hear Gilbert and Ben’s voices, without being able to pick out their conversation. 

“Oh!” Martha said, and pulled his attention back to her. In her hand, she held an ornate envelope stamped Royal Mail. She looked at the return address and smirked. “Frederick sent you something.” 

“There is no way he could have written me a _nice_ letter,” George responded, because his old teammate and now self-styled archnemesis had already sent him a number of distinctly unpleasant emails, all of which he had seen only the preview line of before putting them straight into his email trash can, without even bothering to archive. He offered a hand without saying anything, and she placed the letter into his palm. It was every bit as unpleasant as he imagined the emails were: threats to have his financing taken away, insults about his dancers, insults about himself, all penned in the man’s loopy, barely legible script and signed King George III, because that was the sort of asshole that Frederick was. George studied it for a few moments, and then tacked it on the refrigerator, with the unpleasant blog article and every other shit thing anyone had written about the performance. He had gathered quite the collection.

Martha dumped the junk into the recycling pail and gave him a kiss. “You must be a big deal, for everyone to be talking so much about you,” she said. 

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, and he squeezed her close. “Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll feed us.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” She replied. He laughed, surprised, and watched her as she tidied the important mail pile and left it in the middle of the kitchen table. “Do the bills tonight, I won’t be home until late.” 

“Promise. Love you,” he said.

“Love you,” she said, and picked back up the keys, stealing another kiss on the way out. 

If the decision was between the foreboding pile of bills or the two dancers sitting in the living room, it was not a difficult task to decide. Ben was seated in the couch, his feet bare and in the foot spa, where the bubbles made a soft gurgling noise. Gilbert was over the back of the couch, squeezing his shoulders. Ben’s eyes fluttered open at the chuckle George made. 

“No one ever gave me a foot massage and a shoulder rub,” he said. 

“Not Martha?” Ben asked. 

George barked out a louder laugh at that. “You’ve known me too long to think that she ever rubbed my disgusting feet.” 

“I do know who wears the pants,” Gilbert agreed. Ben rolled his eyes, and slowly he disentangled himself from where he had likely been ordered to relax, stepping out of the foot spa and letting himself track wet footprints across the carpet. He stretched his arms out high above his head, his shirt riding up and revealing a thin line of toned skin and the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs. Stretch completed, Ben dumped himself back onto the couch, and George sat next to him. 

“You look better,” George said. 

“I feel better,” Ben replied, and then he wiggled himself into George lap, “And you owe me.” 

So much was true. George went through with promises, especially the ones that he was very sure he would relish. It was even better when the promise in question was looking at him, loose with affection and whiskey, his eyes half-lidded and his lower lip worried between his teeth. 

“That’s true,” George agreed, and he wrapped his arms around Ben, setting his hands where Gilbert’s had been and squeezing the loosened muscles of Ben’s shoulders. Ben made a low sound of pleasure, going limp in his arms. He liked it, when Ben was eager, in all the ways he usually was. Eager to learn and practice and be better, and also eager for the rewards that he liked, and the praise that seemed to power him like an everlasting battery. “Are you still interested in Gil, too?” 

Ben looked up at Gilbert, who was watching him with a smug little smile. 

“Yeah,” Ben said, and Gilbert came over the edge of the couch and stood in front of George, trapping Ben between them. 

“Hello,” Gilbert said, into Ben’s ear, and scratched a head through his hair. 

“I think we should reorganize ourselves into the bedroom,” George said, watching Gilbert’s hand trace Ben’s shoulders. It was a good sight, to see Ben melting back against him, Ben’s lips wet where he was chewing them, the little noises he made as Gilbert kissed the back of his neck. 

“That’s a good idea,” Gilbert said, and he pulled away, tugging Ben along with him by the collar of his shirt. George watched them for another moment before he turned off the hum of the foot spa, and followed the two tangled dancers into his bedroom. 

They hadn’t made it to the bed. Instead, Gilbert had pressed Ben up against the wall next to the door and was kissing him furiously, drawing wet lines with his mouth down the man’s neck and then again coming back to his lips. His hands wandered over Ben’s skin, t-shirt discarded. George admired the view for a few moments, savored the wet sound of lips on skin. Then Gilbert saw him watching and a sharklike smirk spread across his slick lips. 

He and Gilbert had been fucking for years. He’d even rehabbed the younger man through ankle surgery, which was ten times easier than it had been when George had gotten it. And yet Gilbert could still do unspeakable things to him just by looking at him the right way. George was no longer even sure which one of them had made the first move. It wasn’t like Ben. Ben required care. But Gilbert - Gilbert hungered for him. Gilbert had chased him down and demanded him. 

“General Washington,” Gilbert purred, and George might have been turned on enough by the sight and the voice and the beginnings of his imagination beginning to stir not to be annoyed by the stupid nickname, “Your soldiers need you.” Gilbert wrapped his hands around Ben’s waist and tugged him a little way from the wall, so that there was a space for him to fit. George took the spot designated for him, and wrapped his arms around Ben as well, letting his fingers dance over those powerful thighs. 

He kissed Ben’s neck and his shoulders and nipped at his ear, and let his hands slip into Ben’s jeans, unbuttoning them with skill from practice. Even better, if he shifted a little, he could see the way Gilbert kissed Ben with his wild abandon. Gilbert must have noticed him watching, because he reached with a hand and pulled George to him over Ben’s shoulder, and gave him the same wet, passionate kiss. Ben’s moan was close to his ear, possibly at the sight. Ben ground himself back against him, and George groaned into Gilbert’s mouth, scraping his nails against Ben’s thighs. 

“Too many clothes,” Gilbert said, against his lips, and his hands found George's on Ben’s jeans, and pulled on them. Ben went easy with it, until he was naked between the two of them, and it was easy for George to take Ben’s cock in his hand and stroke it, listening to Ben’s moans. Gilbert’s hand joined in, and Ben writhed against him, ratcheting up George's heartbeat. Gilbert kissed both of them. 

“Gil,” Ben panted, “Fuck, if you guys don’t stop, I’m gonna come.” 

“That’s ok,” George said, into his ear. “I’m sure we can find something to do to you afterwards.” 

Ben shivered against him, and George’s hand went to his own jeans, fighting with the button and trying to wrestle himself out of his boxers. This way, he could pull Ben’s bare, pretty ass against his cock. It was a team effort, to get his cock sliding in the crease of Ben’s ass, and they both put effort into it. But once it was there, Ben ground himself again, the rhythm just rough enough that a flush was creeping up the back of Ben’s neck. 

“God,” Gilbert said, and he kicked himself out of his own clothes, until he could also get his own cock next to Ben’s, in George’s hand. 

“You two,” George murmured, and he bit Ben on the shoulder, and Ben gasped. 

“Here we are,” Gilbert said, and he pulled Ben’s mouth back to his, his other hand drawing down George’s still-clothed shoulder and then out of George’s gaze. It must have been good - a nipple, George guessed, based on Ben’s beautiful, high whine. He stroked both of them harder, felt the little trembles in Ben’s skin. Ben’s hand came back, and sharp nails dug into George’s leg as he listened to the lovely, escalating sound of Ben’s murmurs, when they escaped Gilbert’s mouth. George bent his head and put his focus towards his goal, teasing his teeth across Ben’s neck, applying just enough suction to avoid leaving a mark. 

Ben jerked in his hand as he came. George knew what it looked like, knew the gasps and the shudders. Ben melted against him, and George drew his fingers across the wet mess that he felt, smearing it up Ben’s chest and pushing his fingers against Ben’s lips, feeling the warmth of his tongue against them. 

“God, you are too beautiful for this world, Ben,” Gilbert said, eyes heavy-lidded and focused on Ben’s mouth and George’s fingers. “We are much too lucky to have you.” 

“Much too lucky,” George agreed, and with a little push against the wall got them all moving closer to the bed. Ben he held close to him, fearing wobbly legs (which seemed to be reasonable, given the uncertain first step), but Gilbert sat himself against the headboard, one hand lazily fisting his own cock, which stood proudly against his stomach. George took him in over Ben’s shoulder for a few moments. _Much too lucky,_ he agreed to himself. 

He let Ben chase his fingers for a few moments before pulling them away from his boy’s needy mouth. “Don’t you think Gilbert is feeling unwanted?” he murmured into Ben’s ear, holding one hand against his stomach and letting the other tease against his nipples. “He does look very beautiful, though.” 

“Beautiful,” Ben agreed, staring at Gilbert. Gilbert gestured him over with a crooked finger, and George let him go, as if hypnotized. Ben crawled across the bed and into Gilbert’s lap, and they kissed for a long time. Ben whispered something which made Gilbert laugh, and nod, and then Ben was kissing down Gilbert’s chest and slurping his cock into his mouth. 

Gilbert stroked Ben’s hair and murmured praise at him. “You’re very good at this,” he said, groaning with pleasure and letting his eyes flutter closed, “Right like that, right --- _ah_.” 

George was forced to pull his gaze away as he shucked off his own clothes. He set himself onto the bed and crawled over to the joined bodies, ignoring a pain in his hip and one in his lower back. It was more important to be closer to the delicious wet noises Ben was making, and Gilbert’s low moans. Gilbert met his eyes and grinned, and opened his mouth to say something, but was distracted by a shudder of pleasure. 

“You both look so good,” George murmured, and finally he pressed a delicate kiss to Ben’s thigh, just at the right height for him on his hands and knees. Ben made a distant little hiss around Gilbert’s cock, which inspired George to kiss him more. He kissed along the powerful muscle there, with an occasion nip of the skin, one hand trailing up the calf that Ben had pressed flat against the comforter. 

George pulled his mouth away and took in the sight. Then, feeling inspired, he reached in front, grabbing one of Ben’s wrists and pulling it across the curve of his ass. Ben fell forward a little, and made a wide variety of lovely gagging noises; Gilbert choked in surprise, a gasp spilling from his lips. Ben understood what George wanted, though. Ben always understood what he wanted, what George expected of him. And what George wanted of him right now was for him to hold himself open, so George could use one hand to stroke himself off, easy and relaxed, and the other hand to hold himself up, and could apply his mouth dutifully to tasting Ben. He started slowly, teasing, letting his tongue brush against that sweet flesh but not pressing inside. Ben groaned, from somewhere outside where he was buried between warm skin. Then more, flexing his tongue and pressing inside Ben, listening to his muffled wails and Gilbert’s moans. He pulled his hand away from his own cock so he could press deeper, tease him with a spit-slick finger. 

He heard Gilbert’s gasp and felt his orgasm rock through Ben, and he pulled away to see Gilbert’s fingers moving spastically in Ben’s hair, watched his body shudder. Ben pressed close for some of it, and then pulled back at the end, a thin line perhaps catching his face. Gilbert’s head fell back against the headboard as he panted, and then when he was able, he looked down at Ben, still in his groin. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Gilbert murmured, and he stroked Ben’s hair with a shaky hand. “Show George.” 

Ben sat up between Gilbert’s legs and looked over his shoulder. George’s breath caught in his throat. A few tears were trapped in his long eyelashes, and his mouth was red and swollen, a warm blush spread across his cheeks and down into his neck, where his throat bobbed where he swallowed. A streak of come marred his cheek, and a second across the bridge of his nose. 

“God,” George said, with all the voice he could manage, being that most of the air had been knocked out of him at the sight, “You are beautiful.” 

Ben smiled, his eyes warm. “Thanks,” he said, slightly hoarse, which only served to turn George on more. 

“You’re so beautiful and so good at everything I want,” George said, and Ben’s smile got brighter. “I’m always so glad to have you.” 

“I just want to be good for you,” Ben said, and he arched his back so George could kiss him, no matter how swollen his lips were. 

“You are so good for me,” George replied, and he let their mouths separate, “So good that I’m going to reward you by fucking my cock so deep into you that you can’t talk.” 

Ben nodded, maybe more intently than he meant too, and even Gilbert made a little gasp, behind them. 

“Now,” George continued, and he teased his fingers across Ben’s split-slick hole, “Let Gilbert clean your mess up. Would you like him to pay attention to you while I feel how tight your hole is with my fingers, or would you rather him watch me get you ready?” 

This was obviously a very tough decision for Ben, and perhaps made more difficult by Gilbert's tongue darting gently across his face. 

“I want him to watch. He can help too,” he said, and along with this, crawled out of Gilbert’s lap and put his head obediently in one of the pillows, sticking his ass in the air. 

“So good,” Gilbert murmured, and then he came over to where George was sitting and kissed him for a good long while, until George could taste nothing other than Gilbert’s come still on his tongue. Then, once George was gasping for breath, Gilbert opened the bedside-table drawer and popped the cap on the lube, squeezing some into his hand, and some into George's. 

“Thank you,” George said, and he spread Ben wide with one hand and pressed a broad finger into him with the other, setting a nice slow pace and listening to Ben whine into his pillow. 

“Wonderful,” Gilbert said, watching with rapt eyes. 

“You should join,” George said, and he shifted over, so that Gilbert could slide his own finger inside, and Ben gasped, knuckles going white against the bars of the headboard. 

“How’s that feel?” George asked. Ben nodded furiously, the gesture aborted when Gilbert twisted his wrist. 

It was a nice thing to watch, Ben shaking and shuddering as he and Gilbert sometimes thrust inside unison, sometimes with deliberately different rhythm. Ben’s gasps and pleads seemed to be plenty of evidence of his enjoyment, and even further the way he pushed his hips back and fucked himself against any fingers present. Meanwhile, George craned his neck so he could kiss Gilbert, long and slow, a mouth he never got tired of re-memorizing. Gilbert looked at him the way only Martha looked at him, and sometimes not even Martha looked at him that way. 

“George,” Ben forced out, his voice high and reedy, “Please, please, _please_.” 

“Please what?” George asked, and he twisted his finger against Gilbert’s, and Ben made a sound that sounded like the pleasure was punched out of him. 

“I need more,” he begged, “I need more, I need you inside me.” 

“Shh, shh,” George murmured, and Gilbert slid his finger out so George could push two of his own fingers inside of him, and then slowly a third. “There, is that better?” 

Ben nodded desperately, “But I want -- I really want --” 

“I know.” 

Gilbert chuckled in George’s ear, then wiggled around and took his cock into his mouth. The heat was unexpected and enormous and George pressed deep inside Ben, who cried out, spine going rigid. 

“Was that --” He gasped, and had to regather himself, because it was hard to remember how to talk while Gilbert’s tongue did terrible things to the head of his dick, “--too much?” 

Ben shook his head. “No, just -- just more. Need more.” 

“All right, gorgeous,” he breathed, and then he pressed another finger into him. 

Ben whined low into his pillow. The rocking of his hips was erratic now, more like a twitching. “Is that -- four?” 

George made a noise of agreement. 

“You…..” Ben gasped and shifted, “Your hand. Fuck, please.” 

“Maybe soon,” he promised, because as much as he wanted to see his whole fist in Ben’s ass, that was the sort of thing that the recovery time did not go well with daily practice. 

“Fuck, and least then --” 

“Shh,” George hissed, harsh, and Ben cut himself off, forcing only a whine. He pushed his hips back, as if his urgency was not completely clear. “Ok, ok, come on,” George rumbled, and then slid his slick fingers out, smearing off some of the lube against the meat of Ben’s ass. He drew his other hand through Gilbert’s hair and gave it a little tug, pulling him away. Gilbert wiped his wet-looking mouth with the back of his hand and surged up to give George a kiss that he couldn’t deny, wiggling into George’s arms and drawing sharp nails down his biceps. George shivered, tracing his hand down Gilbert’s jaw. 

He might have been distracted for a while, kissing Gilbert, had Ben not whined again. 

“Ah, I think he’s earned you,” Gilbert said, kissing him one more and then folding his legs to sit, a slight distance away. 

“I think so,” George agreed, and with this, shifted himself next to his desperate lead dancer, who stared at him with red, dazed eyes. He drew a hand through Ben’s hair and pulled the wiggling man into his lap. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and kissed him at length, until Ben’s lips were wet again. “You’re so, so, so beautiful. I can’t even explain how beautiful you are.”

“I know what you can do,” Ben mumbled against his mouth.

George grinned against him, and reached down, taking his own cock in his still-slick hand. “Really?” he replied, “Can you help me?” 

Ben pulled away an inch and chuckled a breathless chuckle. “I’m so lucky that I have you,” he said, and then he looked behind him, his hand finding George’s. He shifted his hips, lifting himself by powerful thighs, and then settled down slowly, his mouth going slack as George felt Ben’s body take him in. It must have been the dancing, George decided, that kept all those muscles strong and his hole so fucking tight even though these sort of events were now fairly regular. 

“Jesus,” George replied, rather than agree, closing his eyes and letting the air leave his lungs in a long sigh of pleasure. Ben was so fucking _hot_ , fit him like a fucking glove, wanted him so bad that George could do nothing but give himself over. “God, Ben. You’re so fucking good for me.” 

Ben rumbled his agreement and bottomed out, settling himself into George’s lap, taking in great gulps of air. “I just…” he started, and then caught his breath, “I just want to be good for you.” 

“You are, gorgeous,” George pulled him close for another kiss, shifting his hips as he did so. Ben’s mouth went slack against him. He traced his hands down Ben’s sides, across the powerful core of his stomach. Now, he finally got to look at his boy: red lips, long eyelashes, flushed, smeared with dried come, a little shiny with sweat. Fucking beautiful, and George rolled his hips again, watched Ben’s head loll forward and listened to the low, pleasured sounds that spilled from his mouth. “God, you’re so good. So smart, so wonderful, so elegant, so graceful.” 

Ben buried his head in George’s neck and hid the noise that he made. George ran a hand down his back, found where there were bodies were linked, and felt messy kisses pressed to his neck. 

He would have been perfectly content to roll his hips into Ben’s wonderful ass and listen to him beg, but then Ben startled in his arms, gasping in surprise. George looked at him for a moment and then glanced to the side, where he saw Gilbert laying next to them, one hand slid between their bodies and wrapped around Ben’s cock, half-hard in his hand. Gilbert looked at them both as innocently as he could manage, given the situation, and Ben managed a breathless laugh, pulling his head away from George to give Gilbert a messy kiss. 

“We should make room for Gil,” George said, and Gilbert grinned at him. Gilbert bent his head and took Ben into his mouth, and Ben hissed, chomping down on his lip and unable to stop the sound that spilled through him. A few jerks of his hips, to get Gilbert accustomed to the motion, as if they had not been in very similar tangles recently, and furthermore, as if Gilbert didn’t know what he was like, bare and chasing his pleasure. They settled: Ben’s hands digging into his skin; Ben’s head hanging between his shoulders as weak, desperate whines and delicious pleasured groans fell from his lips; the wet sounds of Gilbert’s mouth on Ben’s cock; George deep inside of him, pressing further, his eyes flicking from one boy to the other, then back again. 

It was wonderful, and George let his mind think only of how good it looked, how good it felt, how perfect it was to have both of his favorites tucked so close to him and so intimately intertwined. Too good, maybe, and despite all the control or discipline anyone thought he had, he was hardly sure how long he could take something as wonderful as this. And Ben - well, Ben looked like he suffered even more, rocking against George in attempt to take him deeper, gasping as Gilbert worked him over. George knew how good Gilbert could be with his mouth, after all. 

It was Ben that broke first, stifling his wail by biting into the meat of his palm, everything about him become erratic and wild. His face was beautiful, and moreso because it must have been worse, and better, to have George fucking deep into him after his second orgasm. Gilbert lifted his head, taking Ben’s hand out of his mouth and kissing him, and George thought about what must be in that kiss, slick and white and Ben twitching around him, his boy’s body unable to control itself. 

Ben gasped into Gilbert’s mouth when George came inside him, and scrambled helplessly for purchase on one or both of them, short nails digging into the skin of George's bicep. He groaned, needing one or both of them, and first Gilbert turned to kiss him, his mouth slick and salty and hot and just the way George always liked it. Then Ben, surging forward, tasting the same but wild with how much and how well he’d been used. Ben pulled him closer, and fell back against the bed, spreading his legs as much as possible against the headboard. George crawled on top of him with a growl, chasing his mouth, kissing him over and over. He spoke between the kisses, when he could. _You’re beautiful_ and _I’m so glad I have you_ and _I’m so proud_ and Ben kissed him harder and dug his fingers into the knob at the base of George’s neck, nodding and whimpering at every touch. 

Apropos of nothing, Ben’s mouth fell open and he wailed, louder then he had previously. George didn’t startle, but it was close, and he looked up from where he was sucking on Ben’s ear, an eye out for their third. A wet sound drew his attention, and he settled himself onto his haunches and looked over his shoulder. What he saw made him suppress the laugh. 

Gilbert had wiggled himself between Ben’s legs and behind George, and had spread Ben’s legs wide, and was at present burying his mouth between them. His eyes flicked up, and, noticing he had an audience, continued his task with a renewed vigor. It was a very nice sight, and went very well with Ben’s hiccuping gasps and soft, desperate cries, and the fact he could feel Ben trying to wriggle both closer and away from Gilbert’s mouth, stopped by George on top of him. 

“You’re such a slut,” George said, his voice filled with affection. 

Gilbert brought his mouth closer, and held Ben’s cock aside so George could see his red tongue against Ben’s sensitive skin. He lifted his mouth an inch, and licked Ben’s balls, gaining a cry as a response. 

“I don’t believe you’ve ever complained,” he said, and bent his head again to resume torturing Ben. 

“I like it,” George said. 

“I know,” Gilbert replied, into Ben’s skin, “I like that you like it.” 

George shook his head, and set himself facing forward again. His kisses on Ben’s mouth were hardly reciprocated, what with how overstimulated Ben was sure to be, but he could tell his lead dancer was at least trying. It was only, George mused, that Ben was probably so distracted by Gilbert’s eager tongue that he couldn’t concentrate. George, knowing that tongue quite well, couldn’t hold it against him. 

“Ah, that seems better,” Gilbert said. George looked back over at him again, watched him reorganize his body so that he sat against the headboard. His mouth was slick and shiny with lube and come and spit, and he made no hurry to clean himself up. “Can’t have him so filthy.” 

“Gil,” George said, and watched Gilbert smear the mess on his face into his own mouth. Gilbert looked at him, and repeated the gesture, only slower. It was very tempting for George to leave the whimpering, panting mess of his lead and instead melt back into Gilbert’s arms. But he restrained himself. “Gil, can you get a towel to clean Ben up a little?” 

He knew that he should have herded them all into the shower, but it seemed very far away, and plus he would have to stand up. Distantly, he realized that he had no idea what time it was, and that it was dark outside meant nothing given the time of year, and worse that he hadn’t eaten any dinner. 

Oh well. 

Gilbert appeared with a warm rag and attended to Ben. George scanned the bed for any dangerous wet spots, and settled himself under the covers. No matter what time it was, he could definitely get in a few hours of sleep, especially sex-worn and with his boys. Waking up at 5AM was just an easy way to get an additional few miles of his run in. 

Ben distracted him from this thought by wriggling up into his arms. He looked very good, and very settled, and George kissed his forehead, warm where Gilbert had wiped it with the towel. 

“Thanks,” Ben murmured. George squeezed him, and then resettled himself as Gilbert fell into their pile. 

“Thank you,” Gilbert said, and leaned over and kissed Ben on the ear. 

“Right,” George agreed, and carded his fingers through Ben’s sweaty hair, listening to his rumbling purr of affection, “Thank you.” 

Ben was asleep in his arms before George could say anything else. He heard Gilbert chuckle near him, and turned to kiss him, leisurely and slow, unhurried and affectionate. 

“I think any concerns about blogs have been alleviated,” Gilbert said, to his mouth. George chuckled, quiet. 

“I think so,” he said, and then he left himself drift off with the two warm bodies around him. 

  


* * *

 

A hand shook his arm, and he groaned. He started to vocalize a complaint, and then something cool and light fell on him. It was not a real weight, but the surprise of it startled his eyes open, and four blinks later he was looking at Gilbert, standing next to the bed and frowning at him. 

“Gil?” he mumbled, still half-asleep. His hand went to his stomach, where something crinkled under his touch. Firm, but soft. Paper? 

“Martha’s mad at you,” Gilbert said, and then he reached next to George and put something white and square back on him. “You didn’t do the bills.” 

“Bills?” He echoed, stupidly, and then picked up the thing Gilbert had attacked him with. His confused, half-conscious thoughts had been correct. A piece of paper, white and rectangular, with a plastic inner lining. _FIRST BANK_ , read the address through the window of the envelope. He tried to make his thoughts go, which was difficult at whatever time it was and even worse with Ben stirring next to him and rubbing his body, half-hard cock included, against him. 

“She said you promised,” Gilbert said. 

“Promised?” It was very difficult to think. Something forced it’s way through his brain. Sitting at the dinner table last night. Ben and Gilbert in the living room. “Shit,” he added, groaning, as he remembered, “Damnit,” he added, making a symphony of crunching paper as he rolled out of the bed and over the pile he had promised to do last night. Ben rolled over and whined, his eyes fluttering open in frustration now that his humping post was now throwing on boxers, grabbing the wrinkled collection, and disappearing to soothe his wife.


End file.
